Several seconds later the outside door slammed shut.
Max pushed a button and pressed his phone to his ear. “Hi. There will be two problems arriving at the cabin in thirty minutes. Take care of them.” He clicked the phone shut.
Paul half lifted himself from his chair. “You’re going to kill them?” His voice rose an octave.
Max twisted his lips. “Of course. Witnesses saw them shoot a man and then kidnap this lovely lady.” He ran a hand down Josie’s hair.
Fear nearly made her gag, and she shrugged him off. “Touch me again, and you lose your hand.”
He shifted, placing both hands on the arms of the chair to trap her. He leaned in, his minty breath brushing her lips. “You might want to change your tone with me, Mrs. Dean.” His gaze dropped to her chest. “Or I’ll change it for you.” He leaned back. “How much fun we could have together.”
Dread pooled in her stomach. Panic had her changing his focus. “Did you bug my house?”
“Yes.” Max took a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping his hands. “When Billy checked into rehab, we realized he hadn’t quite finished doctoring all the books. You took over for him, so we bugged your home to make sure you hadn’t caught on before we fixed the files.”
The idea of people listening in on her life made her nauseous. She struggled to concentrate and not puke. “All of the men Shane has taken care of lately? Were they yours?”
Max huffed out an irritated breath. “Yes. I don’t know the full story there, either. I sent them to wait for you at your house so we could have a little talk. Next thing I heard, they were in the morgue.”
“I told you crossing Shane was an extremely bad idea.” So all the problems had been because of her, and not Shane’s past. How badly had her husband been shot, anyway? He had to be all right.
“We’ll see about that.” Max whipped a gun out of a shoulder holster.
Paul shoved away from his desk, the chair scraping across the floor. “You can’t kill her here.”
Oh God. He was really going to shoot her. Josie eyed the gun. If she kneed Max in the nuts, would he drop the weapon?
Max smiled. “I’m not going to kill her.”
Josie’s sigh of relief matched Paul’s.
Max took another step away. “You are, Paul.”
Chapter 24
Paul leapt to his feet. “What? No way. Why would I kill her?” He gaze slid to Josie and then back to Max. “I’m no killer.”
Max cocked the gun. “It occurred to me earlier that I’m taking all the risks here. Should you decide to turn me in, you could certainly strike a deal, considering I killed Billy.” One perfectly creased shoulder shrugged. “So you kill her.” He eyed the young bar owner. “Or I kill you. Either way, I won’t worry about it anymore.”
Paul gulped loudly. “Can’t we just let her go and all leave town?”
Josie slid to the edge of her chair. The pounding of music through the walls turned ominous, the beat thumping her shoes. “Let me go.” Paul’s desk held a stapler, computer, and pens. No good weapons.
Max laughed, a low dangerous sound that rose goose bumps on her skin. He reached into his pocket for a silver cylinder that he twisted on to the end of the gun. “I like you, Mrs. Dean.”
A silencer. She fixated on the small hole at the end, unable to look away. “How exactly do you plan to get my body out of here?” She aimed the question at Paul, feeling some satisfaction as he gasped.
A deep male sigh hissed through Max’s lips. “Through the back door. Of course.” Quick movements had him grabbing Paul and yanking the young man out from behind the desk.
Max thrust the gun into Paul’s shaking hand and pointed the barrel at Josie. “This might make a mess, but I’m okay with that.”
Paul retreated until his desk stopped him, his eyes filling with tears, his hand shaking so wildly he might accidentally pull the trigger.
Her breath caught in her throat, and the room narrowed to razor-sharp focus.
Max stepped away from Paul. “Shoot her, Paul.”
“I’m sorry.” Paul shut his eyes and pulled the trigger.
Josie dropped low before springing forward to smash her head into Paul’s midsection. His back hit the desk. The bullet pinged off a painting. Paul’s air whooshed out of his lungs. He doubled over, and Josie reached for the gun, her sweating hands slipping on the cold metal.
Max shot forward, grabbing her shoulder. She yelled. Pivoting, she rammed her elbow up into his groin. He made a sound crossed between a squealing pig and nails on a blackboard. He bent at the waist, still grabbing for the gun.
Oh God. This wasn’t happening. Josie tucked her hand around the grip panel of the gun, rolling to the far side and standing up. The scent of splintered wood and gunpowder filled the room. She pointed the gun at Max. Paul dropped to his knees, tears and snot running down his face.